Old and New
by Laundry Basket
Summary: For Edgeworth, old wounds don't heal. Phoenix Wright doesn't want to believe that. Oneshot. [PhoenixEdgeworth] [SLASH! YAOI! HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS!]


Phoenix Wright could hear the rain pounding on the windows as he made his way to Miles Edgeworth's office, the glass windowpanes hammered by quarter-sized drops of cold water that made it impossible to see anything other than the vague, blurry shapes of nearby buildings. The hallway was quiet and strangely empty, with the exception of the occasional attorney or court worker walking by him in silence; some giving him strange, concerned, or scrutinizing looks as they walked past. He tried to swallow his grimace and smile in return. The young defense attorney knew it was because of the current case, his most high-profile client to date, defending the Chief Prosecutor herself, Lana Skye, accompanied by her young sister, Ema Skye (who was currently out buying aluminum powder). The concerned looks were the ones that worried him the most, as it felt like they were almost pitying him for picking such a hopeless case.

After his last case, with seemingly airtight evidence and testimony against his client and a prosecutor who hadn't lost a case in forty years, he thought some people might try to have a little faith in him.

Thunder rumbled across the sky somewhere close by, and a flash of lightning briefly cast light on the words "Miles Edgeworth, Criminal Prosecutor" engraved in shiny gold lettering on a tall, wooden door in front of him. He gulped and knocked briskly two or three times before turning the doorknob and stepping in. The scent of lavender and dust gathering on law books and dictionaries with a very faint hint of strawberries greeted him, and he squinted to make out all the details of the office he could see, a habit he'd developed after investigating so much on cases. The lights were off except for the desk lamp, the room lit by the dim grey glow from daylight through dark clouds outside, making the room unusually dark in comparison to the typically well-lit surroundings, and the room housed Edgeworth's usual flamboyant furnishings such as pink curtains (he could hear Edgeworth saying "It's maroon, Wright" in his head), a lavender bouquet in a a ridiculously ruffled vase, and some expensive-looking teacups.

At first he thought Edgeworth was out - the darkened surroundings seemed to be an indicator, though it seemed strange of Edgeworth to leave his door unlocked. Then he noticed the head resting on the table, soft brown bangs draped over closed eyes.

He panicked for a brief moment - Edgeworth wasn't the kind of guy to sleep on the job, and he had a lot of enemies, many of them convicted criminals who didn't have a moment's hesitance when it came to taking a life over a grudge. Then he noticed the prosecutor shifting in his sleep and mumbling something inaudible. _Who would've thought... Miles Edgeworth, genius prosecutor, napping in his office. _He walked over with the intention to gently wake him - after all, he didn't think Edgeworth would've liked one of his superiors walking in and giving him a much ruder awakening, especially when he was already under pressure due to suspicion of forged evidence... he didn't need people questioning his work ethic too.

But just as he was about to place a hand on the man's shoulder to give him a mild shake, Edgeworth jerked upright with a desperate, shuddering gasp.

Phoenix quickly moved his hand away and hesitated. "Hey... hey, Edgeworth, are you alright?" He asked timidly. The prosecutor whirled around quickly in his chair, crimson eyes widened and bullets of cold sweat running down his face, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps at an irregular rhythm. His eyes were bloodshot and took a second to focus on the defense attorney standing before him, and he seemed to be trying to force himself to regain his composure. It wasn't working. In fact, Edgeworth looked utterly terrified.

The fact that he was usually so calm and concise and was now looking utterly unguarded was somewhat unnerving, and Phoenix wasn't sure how to proceed. He could offer comfort, something he wasn't really good at and Edgeworth might refuse, or be utterly mortified about later. Or he could do nothing and give some words of encouragement before leaving. It'd make him feel like an asshole, but Edgeworth might prefer it for minimal embarrassment.

The almost childlike fright and helplessness in Edgeworth's eyes quickly dismissed the latter thought. Even if he wasn't likely to admit it, Edgeworth needed somebody right now.

"It... it was just..." Edgeworth spoke, his voice slightly high-pitched and unsteady. "It was just... a nightmare." Phoenix felt a terrible sickly feeling ebb through him as he heard these words, his mind jumping to a thousand conclusions, all of them depressing (this happened in court more often than he'd like to admit).

Edgeworth's words from two months prior echoed in his mind. _Every night, for the past 15 years, I've had the same nightmare. I wake up every time in a cold sweat. _It was disturbing, to say the least, to think of Edgeworth being haunted of dreams of killing his own father. Every single night, for fifteen years. How could he live with that and still be relatively sane? Especially when he hadn't been entirely sure if it was a dream or not?

He felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, only made worse by watching Edgeworth turn away, trying to hide away emotions and other things he'd seen the man try so hard to suppress in the past. What kind of a fool was he to believe that after his last case, the nightmares would magically stop? Maybe they weren't as bad now. Or maybe they were worse. His blind belief in the pursuit of truth and defending the innocent was starting to get a little more jaded now that he realized that the truth was a double-edged sword. Edgeworth knew the truth, but he also now knew that the man who had been his father figure and mentor for the past fifteen years had killed his father; in cold blood with no apparent remorse, no less. _Over something as fucking trivial as a penalty that he deserved. _And the same man was likely to file an appeal, plead temporary insanity, and get off scot-free.

Phoenix swallowed the lump in his throat and put what he hoped was a comforting hand on Edgeworth's shoulder, who tensed briefly then relaxed somewhat, turning to look at him with a tired ghost of his usual disdain. "It's... n-nothing that concerns you." He tried to shrug the hand off his shoulder and brought his palms up to his face to push his bangs out of his eyes, and Phoenix could see his hands shaking somewhat

A deafening boom of thunder rang out above the building, the floor shaking slightly and the windows rattling, and for a second the room was illuminated by the brilliant white light of a lightning strike somewhere nearby. The composure Edgeworth had been trying to slowly rebuild seemed to shatter, and Phoenix thought he heard a small, barely audible whimper from the prosecutor. He tightened his grip on the man's shoulder, who seemed to freeze up and said nothing, and they sat there in silence for a few minutes together, neither entirely sure what to say. Some of the rain was now forming tiny pellets of hail and hammering the building with that instead; it sounded like a thousand little marbles colliding with the roof.

"Edgeworth?" Phoenix said, voice laced with uncertainty. He felt terribly out of place - a defense attorney standing in an overly fancy prosecutor's office in a cheap blue suit, trying feebly to comfort a prosecutor who people said had no emotion, no remorse, and especially no tear ducts; just chilled perfection. Said prosecutor was currently trying to keep himself from having a breakdown. Said prosecutor's face looked wet.

"What are you doing here?" The prosecutor asked, not even turning to face him. Phoenix gave pause; why _was_ he there? He had nothing to discuss with Edgeworth at this point. He shouldn't have even been discussing the case with him - him, the prosecutor, and himself, the defense attorney.

But he hadn't come for the case, had he?

No, he had needed to see Edgeworth. After learning about DL-6, his loathing of the prosecutor's tactics in court had been replaced with worry about his well-being. Even with Edgeworth's cold, professional demeanor and apparent tendency to miss every single one of his calls (or perhaps because of it), Phoenix was finding himself more and more concerned about the man. Was he dumb to think himself a friend of the elegant prosecutor, even if he seemed to want nothing to do with him? More importantly, _why_ did he want nothing to do with him?

Edgeworth turned to look at him, and Phoenix hurriedly shook himself out of his thoughts; he had forgotten Edgeworth had asked a question. "Oh... uh, I just wanted to see you." He said hastily, earning a raised eyebrow and an unreadable expression - but then again, when had he ever been able to read Edgeworth's expressions?

"Why?" He asked simply, and honest confusion flickered across his features briefly before it was replaced with a pained smirk. "Did you come to laugh?"

"No, I didn't." Phoenix replied quickly. He hated when Edgeworth said things like that, not just because of the assumption that he was selfish enough to come to his office just to laugh at him (he had nothing to be laughing about anyway), but because he worried Edgeworth actually thought that was what he was doing.

Was it so hard to comprehend that he was concerned?

"I came because I was worried about you."

"Well, instead of spending your time on lost causes, you should invest some of that spare time into worrying about your case." Phoenix winced at the insult.

"I don't think you're a lost cause."

Edgeworth's face twisted into a tired glare, his eyes narrowing. "For the last fifteen years, I have been pursuing a career under the tutelage of the man who murdered my father, a man who tried to take the place of my father. My father is probably turning in his grave at the thought of me." He firmly gripped the armrest of his chair and bit his lip. "And because of the trial recently, every defense attorney I fight is calling my mental soundness into question. Miles Edgeworth, the prosecutor whose father was killed by the same man that raised him, the prosecutor who forges and lies and has terrible nightmares of the incident even now." He practically spat out that last bit, as if it were a filthy taste in his mouth. "Apparently the tabloids believe it quite sensational. With that said, Wright, are you still going to pretend that you care about this psychological _wreck _that I've turned into?"

If Phoenix wasn't too busy being occupied with the flood of thoughts brought on by Edgeworth's outburst, he would've immediately blurted out "yes"; instead he simply lingered there, mulling over the prosecutor's words. He couldn't stop kicking himself over the fact that he had no idea that Edgeworth was still so tortured by the event - he had thought maybe now, with the incident resolved and the true culprit caught, he might be able to start putting parts of it behind him. He knew now that was one of the dumbest assumptions he'd ever made.

"I didn't think so." He whispered, getting up from his chair. "We have nothing to talk about. Good luck with your case." Without looking at him, Edgeworth began walking towards the door, flinching slightly when thunder rumbled in the distance.

"H-hey... Edgeworth, wait. Wait!" When he didn't stop, Phoenix ran after him and, without thinking, grabbed his hand. Edgeworth tried to jerk away but Phoenix held tight, and the prosecutor turned to look at him with one of the most intense stares he'd ever received. He worked up his courage and stared back.

"Miles." Edgeworth's scowl faltered for a second and Phoenix felt a little more confidence rising within him. "I really care about you. Even if you want to pretend I don't, I care about you. Doesn't that count for something?"

The prosecutor opened his mouth to say something but Phoenix didn't want to hear any more of that biting wit and sarcasm. _Here goes nothing,_ he thought, pushing Edgeworth up against a wall and pressing their lips together.

It took a second for him to respond - Edgeworth seemed to be almost frozen, eyes widened and perplexed. Then he shut those eyes tightly and dug his fingers into the back of Phoenix's blue suit, pulling him as close as he could, letting out a quiet sob against the defense attorney's warm mouth. They stood there for a few minutes, desperately pressing against eachother, Edgeworth arching his back against the wall and trying to memorize as much of these feelings as possible - the scent of maximum-strength hair gel and cheap cologne, the feeling of Phoenix's hands tangled in his hair, the hot wetness of Phoenix's tongue against his own--

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, pal!" quipped an enthusiastic Detective Gumshoe as he pushed open the door, Ema in tow.

"Mr. Edgeworth, sir? Are you here? Is Mr. Wright he--..." Ema's voice died in her throat as both her and Gumshoe turned to see the two lawyers against the wall, kissing desperately as if their whole lives depended on it. Edgeworth's eyes darted over to them and he hurriedly pushed a disappointed Phoenix away, looking rather disheveled, his face thoroughly red.

"W... what are you doing here?" He said, trying to regain his composure and straighten his cravat, though he seemed rather out of breath. "Both of you... get... get out. You don't have permission to be here." Phoenix snickered behind his hand as a flustered Edgeworth rushed towards Ema and Gumshoe and pushed the shocked pair out of the office, slamming the door and locking it. He turned around hastily.

"Now, where were we?"


End file.
